Today I smooth out my dress;
I comb my hair and apply oils
I want to be so radiant that you cannot bear to look at me
Will you be my mirror?
If I look into you, show me my beauty
How much of me is lost in translation
How much of you, revealed in my reflection
You are nothing without me
Only a servant
Waiting to be called from the wings
Show me who I am
And I am gold!
Husniya, I will name my daughter;
Latifa, I will call her; my love
What comes from me should be me
Should be beautiful as me
And more heartbreakingly so
Because she will be you, too
Husniya, I will call her; Latifa, my love!
May she never need to look further than herself
To find me.
(I use Husniya and Latifa to loosely correspond to “beautiful” in English.)